teenage dirtbags
by stjimmywrites
Summary: high school au in which azelma and babet are nerds, and best friends. when babet begins tutoring claquesous, they find they have more in common than they thought, and suddenly azelma and babet can walk down the hall without being beat up for lunch money. but, the inner workings of patron minette are more complex than they thought. {babetsous, azelmaxbrujon, eposette}
1. Chapter 1

_**(A/N): Yes, I realize only a handful of people in this fandom care about Patron Minette, and the Thenardier Sisters. Well, I don't care, so I can do whatever I want 3 Thank you to those who do read this, I love each and every one of you. Really, this is just something I've written on a whim. Again, thank you 3**_

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When freshman year began, Azelma Thenardier had taken care to follow each and every one of her older sister's tips for surviving the year. She didn't talk to anyone Eponine didn't know or approve of, focused greatly on her studies, and stuck close to her sister and childhood best friend, Babet. Sure, by the end of the year they'd both become integrated as a part of the "nerd" population at their school, but at least Azelma could comfortably squeal over the revival of Spider Man, both in film and comics, and Babet could have a worthy opponent in his lunchtime Pokemon battles.

However comfortable they were, it was still strange how the younger sister of Eponine Thenardier was...well, a geek. She wore oversized sweaters, large spectacles with square frames, and carried two or three different emergency inhalers for her asthma. If it weren't for the large hazel eyes that mirrored Eponine's, no one would ever guess they were sisters. Eponine was on the cheerleading team, which was another social anomaly. The girl had joined because, unlike Azelma, she had never really taken good care to mind her studies. Eponine had always believed that the educational system failed in showing how clever someone really was, and letter grades meant nothing. However, this would not get Eponine into a good college, and more importantly, far away from her alcoholic deadbeat father.

Before her mother had left, she'd enrolled Eponine in some gymnastics classes. Backhandsprings and round-offs were second nature to her, and so Eponine had joined cheer as a freshman in hopes of getting a scholarship with it. However, this did not change Eponine one bit. She still beat boys three times her size into the dust for looking at her wrong, still hotwired Montparnasse's motorcycle to ride to cheer practice nearly every morning, and still was an overall badass. And she knew it. Eponine had come a long way from being the scrawny tomboy running around the streets with her little sister and Montparnasse.

Montparnasse and Eponine had entered high school first, with ambitions to rule the school. In a sense, they did. Eponine had the respect of the cheerleading team; the highest of the high school social totem pole. Meanwhile, Montparnasse had formed a similar little gang of his own, only minus the pom-poms and pyramids. They were known as the Patron-Minette, a gang of punks and slackers who smelled of smoke, beer, and teenage rebellion. They were like Judd Nelson from The Breakfast Club in the form of a gang. The main figures were Montparnasse, Claquesous, Guelemer, and Brujon. Sous had met Montparnasse when they both found themselves running from the police at 2 AM when they were thirteen. Guelemer had been a shy, quiet boy who'd been in their math class, and after he punched a senior unconscious for making fun of his trouble understanding the pythagorean theorem, Montparnasse and Claquesous offered their friendship and protection. They'd done the same for Brujon when they realized his laid-back personality was due to his direct connections to the California nightlife. Everyone else in the gang remained only as extensions; freshman who just wanted to belong to something that understood them.

When Babet and Azelma entered high school, a new world order was already set in place. While Eponine viciously protected her little sister, their childhood friend still ran into trouble. Babet was awkwardly tall with clunky glasses he usually refused to wear so he stumbled everywhere and fell over things, and an impeccable knowledge on strange things about the human body; more specifically, the human mouth. It wasn't unusual to see Babet being shoved into a locker, or tripped down a flight of stairs, or beaten up for lunch money. His tormenter was none other than Claquesous himself, mostly because he was the only one tall enough to be intimidating enough for Babet to shake in his hand-me-down sneakers for. Azelma had offered to get Eponine to get him to stop, but Babet refused. He was petrified at the thought of being the victim, and Azelma's 5'3" cheerleader sister being his hero.

However, the running from bullies and crying over Bucky Barnes had kept Babet and Azelma's childhood friendship strong. Azelma had taken to carrying electrical tape for her glasses that only grew all the more fragile when the nobodies in the Patron-Minette stole them, or broke them, or shoved her against walls or lockers. Though Montparnasse was just as protective of her, he couldn't stop the insubordinate freshman and sophomores from picking on her and Babet. She didn't dare go to Eponine either; Azelma refused to be the same little girl who was co-dependent on her sister. Besides, her left hook was getting better anyways. And that was important, because Eponine and Montparnasse were starting on their senior year.

Azelma wasn't sure if she could survive two years without being able to see her sister whenever she wanted, but Eponine was too worried about getting was scholarships she could, and she didn't want to bother cher. Babet was secretly happy that the ring-leaders of Patron Minette were graduating and, without a clear line of succession, surely disbanding. So, on the first day of their sophomore year, Babet and Azelma arrived at school early to reclaim their spot at the bottom of the foyer staircase.

"-Alright, Zel, make me a promise."

"Pinkie or blood oath?"

"...Pinkie."

"Whoa, okay. What is it?"

"This year," Babet began, "We're not gonna take shit from anyone. 'Ponine and 'Parnasse are leaving, y'know, we've just got each other left. Promise?" He finished, lifting up his pinky. Azelma wanted to laugh and make an off-hand comment about them being too old to be making pinky promises, but the sober look on Babet's face made her realize just how serious he was. She smiled and nodded, linking her own pinky with his. Azelma had not seen much of Babet that summer. His birth father had contacted him, and exercised his parental rights so Babet had spent two months with him in New York. The man was a down on his luck musician who was completely alienated from his fifteen year old son, and Azelma had heard an earful in the letters he'd sent. However, Azelma had noticed a great change in Babet when he'd returned a week before term started. He was less awkward, his father had gotten him contacts so the glasses were long gang, and his style of dress was better.

"We'll be fine, Babet. Aren't you taking an A Hour this year, by the way?" Azelma asks, changing the subject before he could ask for a hug or something.

"-I'm actually tutoring this year, instead. Service hours, y'know? Might as well get that out the way now," he shrugs, checking the time. "Shit! I gotta be there in, like, ten minutes…see you later, Zel!" Babet quickly makes his exit, patting her beanie covered head with his hand. Babet walks away too quickly to catch the beanie falling off to reveal the pale blonde hair that had been dyed a blazing, bright orange. Azelma squealed, fumbling as she shoved the hat back onto her head, only to have it snatched back off her head. She immediately felt her stomach drop.

"Aw, did you have a little accident?" says a mocking voice. Azelma immediately froze, pulling her knees to her chest and staring straight ahead. Her newly solid orange fell in tendrils around her face. Brujon, owner of the voice, smirked as he watched her nervous hand drum against the pocket of the ugly green sweater she had on.

"...go away, Brujon," she says tersely, hazel eyes darting around behind her clunky glasses, searching for any sign of Babet, or even Eponine.

"-C'mon, don't be that way, 'Zelma. How'd it happen?" He saunters around her, looming in front of her with crossed arms, one hand still firmly clutched on her favorite beanie. Azelma blinks, remembering her promise to Babet. What had happened was Azelma had tried to dye her hair a reddish kind of brown, but it had turned out to be a bright reddish orange instead. Her father laughed himself into a coma; Eponine merely shook her head.

"-None of your business. Go away."

Brujon put a hand over his heart, over-acting offense, "How you wound me, Petite-Ponine!"

Azelma found herself flinching when he called her by that stupid nickname. It was a cruel nickname, because of how often Azelma was told she was nothing like Eponine, and would never be anything like Eponine. Azelma felt her fists clench around a bunch of the fabric of her sweater. Why couldn't he ever just leave her alone?

"I'm surprised your boyfriend let you do this, what does he think of it?"

Azelma looked confused again, then groaned in frustration. "For the last fucking time, Babet is not my boyfriend! Jesus, do druggies really get short-term memory loss?"

He just shrugged, absolutely unaffected. Azelma hates how much she can't hurt him. "Wouldn't know, I've never done anything like that in my life." he winks, making her want to retch.

"-Just give me my hat back, please?" she says, voice hoarse and tired sounding. Azelma hated conflict and confrontation. All she really wanted was to get through a year without Brujon's stupid mind games.

"-Well, since you said please...no," he grinned smugly, leaning over to meet her eye-level. She took a sharp intake of breath, feeling around for her inhaler. Panic always left her breathless. She felt like a mouse underneath the scrutiny of a hungry cat.

"-Brujon, I'm gonna give you two seconds to step away from my sister or else the next thing that goes up your arm will be a knife skinning your sorry ass," barked the bitter voice of Eponine Thenardier. Azelma let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Brujon immediately back away, dropping her hat. Azelma leaned down to pick it up, taking her sweet time in order to laugh at Brujon being threatened by Eponine discreetly.

"What's up, 'Ponine?"

"Nothin' much. I would ask you the same, but I have a feeling I already know…" Eponine spat, her sharp hazel eyes peering down south of Brujon's face. He scoffed and crossed his arms.

"Excuse me?"

"Brujon, unless you grow actual balls and make a fucking move, I would suggest you leave my sister the fuck alone, because if you don't, by the time I'm done with you, you won't be able to move at all. Got it?"

...What is she talking about?

"What are you talking about?"

"Azelma, come on, you can sit in on my practice…" Eponine says, holding out a hand to help her sister up. Azelma nodded, taking Eponine's hand while yanking her beanie over her head, careful to avoid Brujon's vision. They walked away, leaving Brujon to stare after them with an annoyed look on his face. The cryptic comments about his teasing Azelma were getting old, and Brujon didn't understand them most of the time. Now, Brujon was a laid-back, calm person, and even though he'd haze a freshman or two for kicks, the way Azelma annoyed him was different. It was almost like her way of being was a personal offense to him.

Montparnasse had tried to confront him about it, but all it ended with was a stupid suggestive grin on his face and a pat on his head that left Brujon confused and bothered. No one could ever explain to him why whenever he saw Azelma sitting in the library, studying with Babet, he immediately felt the need to go over and irritate her to the point where she would threaten to hurt him, and instead just end up storming away. It was like a game she refused to play...which was, albeit, disappointing.

"Christ, if we were back in primary school you'd be yanking her hair and pushing her over on the playground…" Claquesous had laughed one afternoon they had cut class to smoke weed in the school parking lot.

"That was one time!" He protested. Sous laughed even harder, shaking his head and saying something about him being hopeless. Claquesous and Brujon had been best friends since they were five years old, and now in their senior year the future that seemed so far away now only seemed so far away because of the hazy uncertain cloud that hung over it. Brujon was barely scraping by in school, but it seemed Sous was a little less lucky. So, when the school counselor suggest Claquesous be tutored, Brujon was the first to tell him it was the right idea.

"-We can't get outta here and start over somewhere if you're a friggen' super senior, man." Sous had punched him after that remark, which in Sous-speak meant 'fine, you're right.'

So, while Brujon hung around the front of the school with a pack of cigarettes to share with Parnasse and Guelemer when they arrive, Claquesous begrudgingly was sat in an empty classroom waiting for his tutor to arrive. He'd gotten so bored he'd taken out his pocket-knife to pick at his nails (he'd seen it in a movie once).

"-Sorry I'm late, I had to pick up the lesson plans from Ms.-" begins a cheerful voice, before stopping suddenly. There stood Babet in the doorway, murky brown eyes widening as they settled on the imposing figure of Claquesous. More importantly, Claquesous holding a knife.

There's the soft click of Babet closing the door, and the sound of him swallowing hard. "I-uh...are you sure you're allowed to have that on campus?" he stutters, inching closer to his seat parallel to Sous'. Babet felt as though he was shrinking, which was such a foreign feeling that only frightened him more. This couldn't have been real; Babet was going to be responsible for the graduation and possible future of Claquesous, his tormentor?

"-Don't exactly know the student handbook by memory, but I don't give a shit. Do you have a problem with it?" Claquesous challenged, eyes watching him like a hunter stalking immobilized prey. Babet, on a whim, vigorously shook his head.

"N-No! No, let's...let's, uh, get started, shall we?" He tried smiling, but it faltered into a grimace.

Claquesous smirked.


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N): I love how I can just fuck up consistently with this thing and no one cares 'cause I came for the feels, stayed for the feels. I dunno. This is just kind a stress reliever at this point. Thank you to those who remain loyal readers, I love you a lot okay. Any requests for a guilty pleasure cliche to be added in our next installment, feel free to add in the comments! Btw you look lovely today uvu.**

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The weeks that followed would be later described by Babet as the most confusing, terrifying, and pitiful continuous sequence of events in his entire life. The first day was the hardest, and many times Babet considered emptying his pockets of every cent he carried with him, and some valuables, leaving them on the table, and running while he still could. Now, Babet was certain Claquesous wouldn't try to kill him, or at least maim him, but he was afraid of being threatened or bullied into just giving him the grade he needed. The way their school's tutoring program worked was Babet got his hours as long as they both signed off on the make-up work Sous completed while in session with him. It would be then reviewed by an administrator at a two-week check point, and whether their sessions would continue was up to the progress Claquesous would or would not make.

That was, at least, how Babet had been told it would work. However, he anticipated a more interactive workspace. The first day of studying, Babet couldn't quite find it in himself to speak up and ask Claquesous if he wanted help. The senior just stared through slitted eyelids at the sophomore, his pocketknife sifting against his cuticle beds. There were History and Calculus textbooks splayed out on the table separating them. Sous had his feet up on top of a World History book, while Babet was sat uncomfortably with his hands folded neatly in his lap, and eyes burning a hole into the middle of the table.

"...Didn't you have glasses?" Claquesous' brittle voice shattered the uncomfortable silence. Babet flinches, taking a minute of hesitation before he answers, clearing his throat.

"Ah...yeah, yeah, I-I did. I got contacts?" He coughed again, timidly twiddling his fingers.

"Hm. Good move," Sous said off-handedly, as he reached forward to take hold of the History textbook he'd been using as a footstool. Babet looked down in embarrassment, his bangs-in dire need of a trim, falling into his face. At least this hid the pink creeping into his cheeks. Was that nearly a compliment?

"Um, do you need any help with anything…? History, maybe?" he tried again, hoping that he could at least something that would make his service hours feel like they were actually earned. Claquesous flickered his luminous eyes upwards to meet Babet's, making him appear more catlike then ever. The younger boy's knees went weak.

"-Do you think I'm stupid, kid?" He suddenly asked. It wasn't a question with offense, or even anger. Simple curiosity, as if he was asking his opinion of some summer film. Babet was at a loss for words, at first, unsure how to answer to ensure a result with the least amount of damage done to him.

"No, not...not really. Not necessarily intelligent, I suppose, but, still, cunning," Babet answered carefully, keeping his face honest, but still cautious. It wasn't any sort of insult to Claquesous-at least, that had not been Babet intended. Watching him carefully, he saw the older boy's eyebrows crease, taking in the answer. Suddenly, he got up.

"We're done here."

"Wh-What? Claquesous, we still have, like, fifteen minutes! C'mon, I didn't mean that b-"

Suddenly, the senior laughed. It wasn't cruel, or condescendingly amused, like the ones Babet was used to. It was nice sounding.

"Hey, calm down, man. I've got somewhere to be. Tomorrow, I'll be a good boy, alright? And stop flinching whenever I move-" suddenly, Sous looked grim, "I don't want to hurt you, so, I won't. Okay?"

Babet, with wide eyes, could only nod. Giving a curt smile, Claquesous patted his shoulder. As promised, Babet resisted the urge to flinch. The older boy's touch lingered for a half a moment, before disappearing completely. Brushing his hair out his eyes, Babet called after his disappearing figure, finding a moment of courage.

"-Read Chapter 1 and 2, tonight!"

Sous turned, this time appearing amused. "Of what?"

"Everything."

* * *

In truth, Claquesous didn't actually have to be anywhere. He just really wanted a smoke, and to get away from Babet's doey brown eyes. All the time he'd broken those clunky square glasses of his, he'd never actually noticed the color of his eyes. That brought a rough twang of guilt to his gut. If he were to be honest with himself, Sous would not necessarily consider himself to be an all around bad person. Maybe just someone who makes bad choices, and it really only depending on who you asked when it came to whether a choices defined a person, or a person defined their choices.

"_-Give it back, or I'll_-"

"You'll what, run off to tell 'Ponine? Seriously, kid?"

"_Stop calling me kid!_ Just give it back! Honestly, why do you hate me so much? _Just leave me alone!_" A voice cried out, sounded choked between hostility and hysterics. Claquesous recognized it as Azelma's panicked, shrill voice. He didn't need to listen very hard to guess the second voice as Brujon's. However, he considered rethinking that notion when he noticed how soft the response to her question was.

"I don't hate you."

They were just around the corner from where Sous was pressed against a wall, playing with a lighter. He peered over to see Brujon holding Azelma's beanie high above her head. The petite girl didn't even try reaching for it; she was a mere 5'2", and his lanky friend stood at 6'0". Her arms were crossed, and she looked near tired, only having barely enough patience for fierce irritation.

"-I'm just playing with you, _Petite 'Ponine_, God, there's no need to be-"

Brujon didn't even get to finish his sentence. Claquesous nearly dropped his lighter, but even if it had set flames to the place, he wouldn't have noticed. All his focus remained on the twisted look of sheer anger on Azelma's face, the root of the force behind the hand that punched Brujon square in the face. Claquesous near impressed. Brujon toppled against the wall, barely keeping his feet. His eyes were wide, save for the left one, already swelling. Giving a frustrated growl, Azelma turned on her heel and walked in the other direction. Sous couldn't help the smirk on his face when he noticed the way she gingerly held her fist.

Stepping out the shadows, Claquesous leaned his shoulder against the brick wall, watching Brujon stuggle to get to his feet. He couldn't resist; the boy started clapping.

"Man, shut the fuck up! Jesus, who the fuck taught her that? Fuck!" Brujon reserved his more colorful language in times of pain, or duress.

"That's what you get, Jon. 'Parnasse warned you about messing with her. Gotta hand it to the pipsqueak, though, that was awesome," Sous smirked, lighting up a cigarette produced from his back pocket.

Brujon grumbled more cursing, slumping against the wall with annoyance. His eye throbbed, starting in the beginning stages of a good bruising. However much Brujon teased or hazed Azelma, he'd never actually hit her before. Maybe tugged at her hair, or her clothing, but never hurt her. The thought of that made his stomach twist.

"...How's the eye?" He asked after a pause, handing a cigarette to Brujon, who was still tenderly holding a hand over his purpling eye. Claquesous bit down on his bottom lip to keep the laughter at bay. Brujon seemed steamed enough as it was, he didn't feel like adding fuel to the fire.

"Fine. How was your tutoring session?" Brujon snapped, rathering to deter the subject away from his eye.

"Fine, I guess….uh, you know that Babet kid?" Claquesous asked, trying to seem casual.

"Yeah, sure, Azelma's Not Boyfriend, right? Nerdy kid with the glasses, dresses funny?" Brujon grumbled. Claquesous furrowed his brow, confused.

"Are they…? Dating…?" Sous asked, his nose wrinkling in something that could have mirrored disgust.

"How should I know, Sous? Jesus, why do you keep talking about her? She's-she's just-"

"Brujon, calm your ass down! I wasn't asking about Azelma, I was asking about-ah, nevermind, just get some ice or something, yeah?" He growled, turning on his heel towards the parking lot. He needed time to think, and he hoped to God that Brujon would take his own time, as rational and level-headed Brujon may have seemed, he did have a record of being rash, or even unreasonable , on occasion. Shaking his head, Sous popped a CD into the stereo, leaned back in the driver's seat and closed his eyes, and let himself think.

Meanwhile, Brujon sat grumpily on the school steps, watching the last of the loitering students leave the lot. He felt starved for nicotine, but had been pickpocketed of his last ones, most likely by Montparnasse. A twitching hand reached up to softly touch his throbbing eye, and suddenly Brujon felt an unwanted blush coloring his face. Azelma Thenardier had punched him in the face. The tiny girl with big hazel eyes and soft, flaming hair...had socked him. Brujon remembered a time in junior high, when he'd been acquaintance with Montparnasse, Eponine, and by extension, Azelma herself. He remembered her wide grin, chattering a mile a minute about some new issue of some comic she'd been reading, and the way he'd sometimes watch for a glint of blonde hair in the group of downtown misfits that would assemble near the Cafe. Stoic, even at fourteen, Brujon had hoped they'd become better friends. Then she met Babet, and he'd lost his chance.

The seventeen year old couldn't exactly pinpoint the reason he baited the girl so much. Really, he didn't mean anything by it. Surely, anyone could think of the burning coal feeling that ignited in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw the girl as irritation.

Still, Brujon wasn't sure anymore. He didn't want her to hate him, because...he'd never hated her.

Suddenly, the realization struck like another punch to the face. Brujon was in love with her.

* * *

_**[TEXT TO: Professor B]: Yo, B, where r u? **_

_**[ TEXT TO: The Annoying Orange]: Library, y?**_

_**[TEXT TO: Professor B]: **__**...i kinda did a thing**_

_**[ TEXT TO: The Annoying Orange]: what? u ok?**_

_**[TEXT TO: Professor B]: **__**i punched brujon.**_

_**[ TEXT TO: The Annoying Orange]: **__**LAWN. 5 MINUTES**__._


End file.
